


On The Spot

by Splat_Dragon



Series: Whumptober 2019 [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: "Gunpoint", Angst, Arthur Whump, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Spoilers, Whumptober 2019, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 01:17:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20899259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon
Summary: Whumptober 2019, Prompt #5: "Gunpoint"He counted down with twitches of his fingers. As he moved down, he twitched his index finger, seeing Arthur’s eyes dart to it. Twitched his index and middle then, with a minuscule nod, his index, middle, and ring.ORWhy Colm hates Dutch.





	On The Spot

“Dutch!”

The man himself scowled, twisting to crack off another shot, another O’Driscoll crumpling to the ground, his blood staining the wood of the bridge.

“Dutch van Der Linde!”

The last O’Driscoll fell, a bullet between his eyes, and Dutch moved to look for Colm.

“Put your hands in the air, or the boy dies!”

Dutch froze—there was no denying who that was, and Caleb O’Driscoll never bluffed. So, holstering his guns, he held his hands up as though he were being held at gunpoint, turning slowly in the direction of the voice, heart in his throat.

Caleb’s eyes were wild with sheer glee, rotten teeth bared in a nasty grin. Arthur was clutched against his chest, staring at Dutch pleadingly, eyes dark and mouth hanging open as he gasped, adam’s apple clicking against the gun held to his throat. If it weren’t for that, Dutch knew, he would have been fighting like a wildcat, would have bit and scratched until Caleb let him go and he could make his way to his side.

“Let him go, Caleb,” he said in that purr of his, trying to talk the man down, trying to come up with a plan on the fly, panic making it hard, wanting nothing more than to lunge forward and pull his boy away, beat the O’Driscoll brother into the ground for daring to lay so much as a finger on him. But he knew if he so much as breathed wrong, Caleb would have a bullet through Arthur’s head before he could even twitch.

Caleb grinned even wider, showing a few too many teeth. “And why would I do that? This boy…” he tapped his gun against Arthur’s throat, and Arthur shuddered, a whimper dying in his throat. “This boy is the key.”

Dutch fought the urge to lick his lips, to bring his hands down and run them through his hair as he thought, “He’s just a boy, Caleb. Let’s talk, you and I, man to man. Let him go.”

Caleb chuckled, and Dutch bristled when he ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair. The boy shuddered, eyes widened as he looked at him, and Dutch tried to reassure him,_ ‘I’ve got you, son, I’ve got you.’ _And his boy seemed to get the message, as he relaxed somewhat in Caleb’s grip, breathing just that little bit easier.

“Let him _go_? You’ll just shoot me! I’m no fool, Dutch, I _know _you!” the O’Driscoll laughed, and Dutch’s blood chilled—he sounded completely unhinged, and he feared, more than ever, for Arthur’s life.

It was clear, though, that Caleb hadn’t thought he’d get this far. His eyes were darting this way and that, and he licked his lips constantly. “Now… get-get on your knees, Van Der Linde!”

Arthur flinched as he suddenly raised his voice into a shout, mouth right next to his ear. Caleb’s hand clenched in his hair in warning, and the boy winced, stilling. Dutch had to bite his tongue to keep from barking at him to _get your hands off my boy!_ He lowered himself as slowly as he could, trying to get out of this before he was helpless, before he was ordered to throw his guns away and they were both at Caleb’s mercy and _where was Hosea?!_

“Alright, Caleb, I’m going, alright. See? No need to hurt him, now let him go.” his throat clicked as he gulped, what was he going to _do_? He’d promised Arthur that he’d be safe when he took him in, and he’d never forgive himself if he was hurt, if he was _killed_. And it would be his fault; Hosea had _told him _that allying with the O’Driscolls was a bad idea, but he hadn’t listened.

_Why hadn’t he listened?!_

The gun pressed uncomfortably against Arthur’s adam’s apple, and he shifted uncomfortably. Caleb released his grip on his hair to grab his shirt, hissing “Stop squirmin’,” before yelling at Dutch, “On your stomach!” and Dutch knew that he was going to hogtie him. What he was going to do after that, where he would take him, he didn’t know.

But, watching Caleb struggle, he got an idea. As he began to move, so slowly it was almost painful, he caught Arthur’s eye. The poor boy’s terror showed, blue glistening and pupils blown wide, and it took him a moment to figure out what Dutch wanted. Dutch darted his gaze from Arthur, down to the floor abruptly, up and then back down again. He could see the moment Arthur realized what he wanted to do, nodding his head just enough for Dutch to see it, but not nearly enough to draw Caleb’s attention.

He counted down with twitches of his fingers. As he moved down, he twitched his index finger, seeing Arthur’s eyes dart to it. Twitched his index and middle then, with a minuscule nod, his index, middle, and ring.

Arthur allowed his legs to drop out from under him, going boneless in Caleb’s arms as though he’d been shot, and the man grunted in surprise, stumbling as he tried to right himself and grab Arthur again.

But Dutch had always been a crack shot, and was far faster. Caleb hadn’t even caught himself when he drew his guns, and to his great disappointment the man was unaware when Dutch fired, didn’t even have a chance to look up before his head exploded in gore and he crumbled to the ground. Arthur staggered forward, and Dutch lunged to catch him.

“Alright, son?” he asked, taking him by chin and turning his head from side to side, checking to make sure he wasn’t hurt.

Arthur was clearly shaken, but he shook his head, “N-no, I’m fine. He just took me by surprise ‘s all.” and Dutch nodded,

“Gotta stay aware of your surroundings, son, even if you’re in the middle of a gunfight.” he said, carefully wiping Arthur’s face clean of gore. The boy needed a good bath to get it all off, but he did the best he could. “Where’s your guns, son?”

Arthur flushed, embarrassed, and looked around, “Ah, near him I think. He knocked ‘em out of my hands.” They separated, looking for the boy’s guns—they’d been ‘welcome to the family’ gifts, and so he desperately wanted to find them. They had spares back in camp, but he’d learnt on those guns, and they were precious to him.

Finally, Dutch spotted them laying not far from what remained of the O’Driscoll brothers head. He stooped down to pick them up, wiping them clean on the man’s clothing—he liked the guns, but not enough to wipe filth and gore on his own clothing.

Dutch nudged Caleb, wrinkling his nose as the tip of his shoe was coated in blood. Colm was a valuable ally, vicious and cruel, and he knew he wouldn’t be an enemy to be trifled with. This was bad, but for Arthur, making such an enemy was worth it.


End file.
